


champagne problems

by mardia



Category: England Series - K. J. Charles
Genre: F/F, Post-Canon, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-15
Updated: 2020-12-15
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28082742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mardia/pseuds/mardia
Summary: Fen didn’t want to be in retreat for the rest of her life, and eventually she knew she’d have to go back to London and face the whispers and gossip again. A strategic retreat was necessary for a time, but it wouldn’t do to be arecluse.“You could be a recluse,” Pat pointed out wryly at the breakfast table that morning. “You’d certainly make the most fetching recluse in England.”
Relationships: Fenella Carruth/Patricia Merton
Comments: 20
Kudos: 81
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	champagne problems

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SapphoIsBurning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SapphoIsBurning/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, sapphoisburning! I was excited to get your prompt and when I saw your mention of Pat and Fen as a team together during another awkward/tense social situation, I got inspired to write a story exploring how Fen would rehabilitate her reputation after breaking off her third engagement and being caught up in a murder, and this is the result, I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Title comes from the Taylor Swift song, because I couldn't resist.

Fenella Carruth was in something of a fix, and unfortunately, it was all her own fault. 

The problem started with Fen's two broken engagements, and then the third broken engagement, which came with a murder and a murder trial on top of it. Even though Fen had not actually been responsible for either the murder or the last broken engagement, her proximity to both events was an issue, at least so far as Polite Society was concerned. 

As far as _Fen_ was concerned, the world was better off without Maurice Haworth in it, and breaking off her engagement to Jimmy Yoxall was the best decision she'd made in years, but she was fully aware that saying so was not exactly what anyone wanted to hear from her, not now or ever.

But the real issue was that as far as polite society was concerned, Fen's best characteristic was that she was Sir Peter Carruth's rich daughter, and that if she was new money, at least she was _British_ new money, rather than American. 

But Fen was getting better at ignoring Society’s opinion of her, at least compared to her own opinion of herself, or better yet, Pat’s opinion of her. Retreating back home to King’s Norton was the best decision she’d made (aside from breaking things off with Jimmy, and starting things on with Pat) and it had been such a relief, not to be doing an act for people, just...being herself, and having that miraculously be enough for someone.

But Fen didn’t want to be in retreat for the rest of her life, and eventually she knew she’d have to go back to London and face the whispers and gossip again. A strategic retreat was necessary for a time, but it wouldn’t do to be a _recluse_.

“You could be a recluse,” Pat pointed out wryly at the breakfast table that morning. “You’d certainly make the most fetching recluse in England.”

Fen gurgled with laughter at this, but still had to point out, “I don’t actually wish to be Miss Havisham, Pat, locked away with a rotting cake and wearing a decaying wedding dress for all eternity.”

Pat raised an eyebrow at this metaphor, deliberately looking around the room and saying, “Don’t notice any rotting cakes about. Point them out for me, will you?”

“Pat!” Fen protested, but her protest was rather ruined with her giggling.

Pat smiled crookedly, but looked at her with knowing eyes. “Being cooped up in the countryside is starting to pall, is it?”

It still was such a strange thing, still, to be known by someone, really known by them. “Well--” Fen started, then admitted in a rush, “Well, _yes_. Don’t get me wrong, darling, I’ve loved this, I’ve loved having you here and being together, just the two of us, but--but it’s starting to feel as though I’m actually hiding now, and I keep getting stuck on the unfairness of it. It’s not as though _I_ killed anyone, or as though I actually did the wrong thing, breaking off the engagement with Jimmy--”

“I should say not,” Pat agreed.

“But the longer I stay here, the more I feel as though I’m taking the coward’s way out, avoiding everyone’s sneers and whispers.”

“You needn’t tolerate them either,” Pat said immediately, with that flare of protectiveness that Fen loved. “Sneers and whispers should not be the price of admission into society, and anyone who acts otherwise can go rot.”

Fen couldn’t help but smile at this, but she could feel the rueful twist to the corners of her mouth. “It’d be nice if it worked like that, darling.”

Pat pursed her lips, opened her mouth as if to speak, and then paused. The hesitation was so rare for Pat that Fen gave her an inquiring look, and Pat said slowly, “I...might have a solution at hand, actually.”

“Oh?”

Pat made an odd expression. “Do you remember when I told you about my old friend from school, Louisa?”

Fen raised her eyebrows. “The one who broke your heart and made you cry? Yes, Pat, darling, I _did_ manage to remember that.”

It was Pat’s turn to look rueful now. “Well, she’s been at me to visit her since her wedding to her Hugo, and I’ve been putting her off, but now...perhaps it would be a good idea for us to visit her, together.” At Fen’s bewildered look, Pat gave her a crooked smile and added, “I should’ve mentioned...Louisa’s Hugo is Hugo Vane, the Marquess of Circencester.”

Now it was Fen’s turn to fall silent. “Oh, I see,” she managed at last. 

“I think Louisa could manage your return to society easily enough,” Pat said, eyebrows quirked up, as if inviting Fen to share in the joke, as well as a visit to her old friend who was also apparently a marchioness. 

Fen paused, and then reached out and took her hand. “Darling. You’re wonderful to make the offer, but I don’t--”

Reading her mind, Pat said wryly, “It wouldn’t be a real sacrifice, you know. I do need to actually visit Louisa, at least if I’m not to cut the connection entirely, and it would…it would be good to have company with me when I’m there. And if it helps _you_ , then then I’m all for it. Truly.”

Fen grimaced, thinking it over. “Are you sure?” she asked at last. 

Pat nodded, looking far more confident that Fen felt about the whole thing. “I am. If you’re willing, I can write to Louisa today.” At Fen’s slow nod, Pat smiled suddenly and said, “Chin up, Fen. God knows it can’t be worse than the last house party we went to.”

As Fen burst out into laughter, Pat just grinned, unrepentant and clearly pleased with herself.

*

Tarlton March was just like many of the other grand houses that Fen has visited in her life, huge and imposing and stately, years of history piled up on itself. 

Lady Cirencester was neither thin nor voluptuous--the best description that came to mind when Fen met her for the first time was _solid_. She looked sturdy and capable, even dressed in the latest fashion, befitting a marchioness, and Fen would bet anything she owned that there was not a problem this woman would ever have that she wouldn’t find a solution to. 

Compared to her air of relentless competence, Lord Cirencester faded into the background rather--a short, thin man with spectacles and a retiring air, and Fen remembered that he’d come to the title only after the death of his older brother. 

Introductions were made, Lady Cirencester greeting Pat with delight, then greeting Fen with courtesy and an assessing look that Fen did her best to meet calmly, keeping her smile bright and her gaze steady. 

She didn’t think she was imagining the half-beat that came before Lady Cirencester said, “We’re so glad you could come, Miss Carruth.”

Fen dimpled back at her and said, sweet as spun sugar, “Oh, but I’m _so_ glad to be here, Lady Cirencester.”

She knew that Pat was watching them both warily, and Fen was determined not to be the first to blink, not here, not in front of Louisa Vane _née_ Maitland, the woman who’d broken Pat’s heart when she decided a marquess was a better bargain than having Patricia Merton in her life. 

The pause was broken by Lord Cirencester clearing his throat and saying, “Ought to head in, you ladies must be exhausted from the drive, what?”

“Of course, how silly of me to be wool-gathering,” Lady Cirencester said, ushering them all inside, the gracious hostess once more. 

Fen shared a look with Pat, knowing in a flash that Pat was looking to reassure her just as much as Fen wanted to reassure Pat, and then the two of them followed their hosts inside. 

*

Pat was right, at least; things weren’t as bad as the last house party. 

Whatever Lady Cirencester thought about Fen, or about Fen and Pat together, she wasn’t letting it affect her duty as hostess, forever calm and gracious as she showed them about Tarlton March, her husband always a half-step behind her, Fen oohing and ahhing over the portrait gallery of long-dead strangers, the renovations and the work they were doing to slowly modernize the house, along with the village--

Pat woke up a little at that, and soon she and Lady Cirencester were chatting like the old friends they were about dealing with local resistance to change, recalcitrant vicars who hated things that were newfangled, such as the telephones that had just come in--

“Oh, no offense, Miss Carruth,” Lady Cirencester said, off-handedly, and Fen didn’t need to look at Pat to see the way she was frowning at that. 

“Why would I take offense?” Fen asked, with her spun-sugar smile again. 

Lord Cirencester cleared his throat, and said in a tone louder than Fen had heard him speak yet, “And here is the library--”

To give him credit, the library was a grand place, books piled up almost higher than the eye could see, everything gleaming and organized, with great windows letting in the light. 

“Oh, how lovely,” Fen said, and meant it--she’d never been truly much of a bookworm, but she knew a great sight when she saw it. 

With the enthusiasm of a child--or a man who loved books beyond anything--Lord Cirencester said proudly, “The work of generations, this place is. Takes a lot to keep it going but my word, it’s certainly worth it.” He took the initiative from there, describing his latest trip to Italy to unearth some rare editions, the work he was doing to have the bindings on them repaired--

Fen listened, both out of politeness and relief, because here was something that was at least truly well-meant, a man with an enthusiasm who wanted nothing more than a willing ear to listen to. 

She noticed a small portrait hanging on the wall, and asked politely, “Is that another one of your ancestors?”

Lord Cirencester turned to see what she was looking at, and chuckled. “Oh--oh no, that was one of our bookmen. The first one of note, really--the family collection was something in a pit of disrepair by then, he was hired and put things right. More than that, really--it’s his organizational system we still use today. His miniature was hung up here at Tarlton as a way to honor him for the service he did the Vane family.”

“That’s lovely,” Fen said, and meant it. 

Lord Cirencester smiled bashfully at her--for once, not the smile of a man who found her pretty face appealing, but the smile of someone pleased to be listened to. 

“This is your favorite place in the house, I’d wager,” Fen offers up, and Lord Cirencester laughs. 

“That’s a wager you’d win, Miss Carruth,” he says. “I spent so much of my childhood here, tucked away in a chair, disappearing to another world…”

Fen wondered why a little boy with seemingly everything in this world would want to go to another one, but Lord Cirencester shook himself out of his reverie, smiling at Fen and saying, “You know, please feel free to come here as often as you like during your stay. These books aren’t just ornaments, you know, they’re meant to be read and enjoyed.”

“Thank you,” Fen said, “I’ll do that.”

*

Dinner was basically what Fen expected. 

There had been more guests that arrived after Fen and Pat, a scholar from Oxford who’d been invited to make use of the Cirencester library for his studies, a Vane cousin who’d come from London with his friends in tow, another friend of Pat’s from school. 

It was the first moment that Fen had been out in society since Rodington Court, and for a moment Fen hesitated at the door, not wanting to go in, not wanting to face the stares of strangers and wait for whatever unkind thing to be said next--

But that wasn’t fair, or reasonable. Not everyone in society was as awful as Maurice Haworth or Lady Anna, and there was no reason for Fen to tolerate it if they were. And Fen had asked for this, she’d been the one to make the decision to re-enter society, because she _wanted_ to. 

Fen held on to that knowledge, and to the memory of Pat’s last kiss on her mouth, firm and reassuring in her bedroom just earlier, before Pat had slipped down to the drawing room a few minutes ahead of Fen. 

When Fen finally entered the drawing room, it was with an easy smile on her face, and with resolution in her heart. And like she’d known it would be, it wasn’t _all_ awful, people were looking at her with curiosity, yes, but with none of the malice she’d feared. And Pat’s encouraging smile was more than enough to make up for the rest. 

There was only one bad moment at dinner, with the Vane cousin, Ellroy Vane-Lockwood, saying idly that scandal was thin in town at this time, but everyone was still talking over “that astounding to-do at the Wittons,” with a meaningful look in Fen’s direction. 

Fen felt her shoulders go stiff, and she saw Pat’s face, grim and determined, but Lady Cirencester said, calmly, “Ellroy, that’s hardly a worthy topic of conversation at this table.”

“We have two witnesses to one of the greatest scandals of the year, I think that’s a very worthy topic of conversation,” Ellroy protested, but with a smirk to his face that Fen didn’t like at all. 

And somehow, the words--the right words--came out of Fen’s throat. “Perhaps it is interesting, if one is a gossip-monger,” she said, crisp and haughty in a way she’d _never_ managed before in her life. “For everyone else, it was a tragic series of events that is not, as our hostess has pointed out, something to be tossed about at a civilized meal.”

Ellroy’s smirk didn’t disappear, but Pat was looking at her, aglow with pride, and Fen felt her shoulders straighten, even as Lord Cirencester said in support, “Hear, hear, Miss Carruth. Let us turn the subject to something more pleasant, please. I know Louisa has a raft of activities planned for us this week, isn’t that right, darling?”

Fen felt herself relaxing back into her chair as Lady Cirencester took over the conversation with ease, the other guests contributing to smooth over the awkward moment as if it had never happened at all. 

“My apologies, Miss Carruth,” Lord Cirencester said in a soft murmur. 

Fen smiled at him, shaking her head. “Oh, please don’t worry. It won’t be the first time I’ll be asked about that awful tragedy. Now please tell me, are you also a shooting man? Or are you like me, and you avoid bloodshed?”

*

The hour was late, even by house party standards, by the time that Fen was in her nightgown and waiting for Pat in bed. Finally, she heard soft footsteps and Pat’s particular knock at her door, and rushed up to let Pat in, her hair braided for sleep and wrapped up in her cosy robe. 

“Pat, darling,” Fen breathed out, all the muscles of her body seeming to relax all at once, and then Pat’s mouth was on hers, and there was very little talking after that. 

Much later, Pat’s robe was lying on the floor in a heap next to Fen’s nightgown, and the two of them were under the sheets, sleepily entwined together, Fen running her fingers through Pat’s smooth flaxen hair. 

“I don’t think your friend Louisa likes me very much,” Fen said finally, remembering the awkward atmosphere in the drawing room after dinner, the way Lady Cicencester’s dissecting gaze was so often on Fen, as if she were weighing her up...and found Fen wanting. 

Pat sighed. “No,” she agreed, honest to a fault as always. “Louisa...well. She has her opinions on my being your companion.”

“Thinks you’re lowering yourself?” Fen asked, tartly. 

“She thinks I’m delaying the inevitable,” Pat said. “She made her choice to marry, have a grand marriage and a respectable life, and she can’t understand why I won’t...grow up and do the same. Put away childish things, all that.”

“I don’t call what we did just now childish,” Fen joked, and Pat smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “And she’s wrong,” Fen continued. “The most adult decision I made was taking you up and not marrying Jimmy Yoxall, and I won’t let anyone tell me otherwise.”

Pat’s smile was more real at that. “Have I mentioned lately how glad I am that you did take me up?”

“Ooh, once or twice,” Fen conceded. “But I’m more than happy to hear it again.”

That led to another delightful interlude, and between soft, lingering kisses, Fen murmured, her hand resting on Pat’s face, stroking along the strong jaw, “Thank you for doing this for me. Even if it’s not perfect.”

Pat smiled, but shook her head. “It was worth it to see you standing up for yourself at the dinner table tonight. That look you gave that idiot Vane cousin, I wanted to cheer.”

“Now that would’ve been a scandal,” Fen laughed. “How uncouth, my dear Miss Merton.”

“Positively outrageous,” Pat agreed. “Though it won’t be the only outrageous thing I could do tonight,” she murmured, slowly moving until she was braced above Fen’s body, her strong arms holding her up. 

Fen beamed and wriggled beneath her, glorying in the feel of Pat’s lean, strong body against her own. “Oh, please do go on, I’d _love_ to see another demonstration.”

Pat laughed and proceeded to do just that, and soon Fen’s thoughts were wiped clean of Lady Cirencester’s wary looks, or rude comments at the dinner table, or anything else but the woman here with her, whose opinion was the only one, after all, that truly mattered.


End file.
